


His Hair Was Red

by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Corporal Punishment, High School, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, referenced abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 03:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/curiouscorvid
Summary: The teachers were getting shorter and shorter with the other student. They were sick of him. Adults, particularly teachers, didn’t respond well to a child who is clearly smarter than they are.





	His Hair Was Red

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to happen, but it did.

His hair was red.

That was the first thing Jonathan noticed. The boy had bright red hair that shined brilliantly in the Southern sun, the lighting bringing out the charming spattering of freckles along his face and the green in his eyes. He wasn’t dressed for the weather. It was sweltering hot. Most people were trying to get away with wearing as little as the school would allow, but this newcomer seemed to be doing the opposite. Every inch of skin aside from his hands and his neck up was covered, and even his collar covered half of his neck. He had to be dying of the heat.

He could suffer for it and die of heat stroke, for all Jonathan cared. He could feel the bitter simmer of resentment settling just under his skin the moment the new kid walked into the classroom. His smile was too charming, practiced, like a door-to-door salesman or someone on a car commercial. His clothes and hair were immaculate, he stood up straight and held his head high. He absolutely thought he was better than everyone and Jon could not stand it.

Though, even he had to admit, the boy was smarter than everyone else. He spent all of his class time reading his own thick books or scribbling something in his notebooks, but whenever the teachers tried to call him out for not listening he’d just give them the answer to whatever they asked and recite back the last thing they’d been saying. He never looked up when he did that. He never saw how angry the teachers got with him, and he didn’t seem to care either way.

The books were interesting, though. Jonathan had never really met anyone who read quite as much as he did. Sometimes Jon caught the other boy glancing over at his own book, but the boy never spoke to him or asked him about it. That was just fine. Jonathan hated when people interrupted his reading, and he wanted nothing to do with the new kid.

He almost seemed social. He seemed outgoing and extroverted, but anyone who tried to talk to him got sick of him almost immediately. It was almost sad, but mostly just funny. He spoke of things far above their grade level and got rude and dismissive when people couldn’t keep up. He often answered questions with cryptic riddles and refused to give hints or answers. It wasn’t long before the entire school, such as it was in a small town, had enough of him. The boy didn’t seem bothered. He kept his aura of arrogance and superiority, even while he retreated into his books and puzzles.

The school didn’t like Jonathan much either. If a note was slid into his locker, it was usually something nasty or mocking, so he wasn’t exactly ecstatic when a piece of paper floated out of his locker when he went to get his books. He frowned, and almost threw it away without opening it, but it would bother him all day if he didn’t know what it said.

_What is mine but only you can have?_

What was that supposed to mean? How was he supposed to try to answer when he didn’t know who wrote it? He didn’t spare a thought for it. He crumpled it up and threw it in the trash on the way to his next class.

The boy always sat next to him. Jon wasn’t sure why, but it was obnoxious, especially when he was writing in his notebook. The scribbling was constant and grating, and the damnable fool was never still. He was always bouncing his leg or tapping his fingers or fidgeting with something.

Jonathan was sure the boy had an easy life. Spoiled by his parents, most likely. Always got what he wanted, doted on and cared for. He surely took it for granted, and that made Jonathan hate him all the more. It wasn’t long before that boy became the one he hated most in the entire school, including his usual tormentors. He didn’t care if the boy deserved it or not. Jonathan wanted to hate him, and so he did.

The notes appeared in his locker every Friday. They were always cryptic and ridiculous, and he always threw them away immediately.

_What is yours but you can’t actually hold?_

_This very thing you were born with pleases us all. It's even capable of making men fall, while only experienced by few it's treasured by all._

_The rich men want it, the wise men know it, the poor all need it, and the kind men show it._

_I am something quiet. I can be happiness, sadness or fear. I can show or just be gone, but I'll come back not before long._

He wasn’t an idiot. He noticed the ongoing theme. But he wouldn’t be taken in by it. It was so clearly a trick, some sort of sick joke, and there was only one student who was constantly spouting off riddles. He wouldn't dignify it with a reaction.

The teachers were getting shorter and shorter with the other student. They were sick of him. Adults, particularly teachers, didn’t respond well to a child who is clearly smarter than they are. In addition to that, the rumors about him spread like wildfire and only fueled the animosity towards him. Jonathan didn’t pay them much mind. He didn’t need more reasons to hate the new kid, who he now knew as Edward.

One teacher in particular had clearly had enough of him. It seemed everything Edward did upset him, to the point where even Jonathan thought it was a bit unfair. He would ask questions, Edward would answer them, and then he’d be scolded for being a know-it-all. That just seemed to spur Edward on into even more complex answers and information, until the teacher was red in the face. He would openly insult and mock Edward in front of the entire class, and Jonathan didn’t miss the way Edward tensed whenever the man raised his voice at him.

There came a day when the teacher seemed to snap. He called on Edward for an answer, as usual, and as usual Edward answered it with ease. Unlike usual, the teacher called Edward to the front of the class.

The student didn’t move.

The teacher insisted, harshly, and because Edward always sat right next to Jonathan, Jon was able to see the small flinch. Red flags were going off. A lifetime of abuse had conditioned him to recognize when something terrible was about to happen, which it was just about to. Edward seemed to know too. How curious.

The teacher stormed to his desk and grabbed him by the arm, trying to drag him away from his desk. Edward was up and out of his seat in a flash, backing off with a harsh command to not touch him. The teacher’s face was beet red. He moved quickly, suddenly, and the entire room went quiet as they tried to process what had just happened.

The teacher had just backhanded Edward right across the face.

What was more, and what only Jon noticed, was the way Edward took the blow. He had a look about him, a dullness in his usually-bright eyes, and his posture spoke of routine. As if being smacked around was just the same shit on a different day. His eyes met Jon’s for just a moment, filled with an empty resignation that made his stomach twist into knots. He recognized that look. He saw it in the mirror often.

His entire view of the boy was being rearranged. As everyone was stunned by the blow and Edward wasn’t moving anymore, the teacher finally pulled him to the front of the class. Edward didn’t make a run for it. He just stood there, watching the teacher rummage through his desk, seemingly bored. The sun was coming in through the windows and illuminating the front of the classroom as if it were a stage. His hair was so very red in the sunlight, and Jonathan had the thought that he must be so warm, because he was covering every bit of his body that he could without rousing suspicion.

It was a practice Jon was familiar with, and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t connected the dots before.

The teacher confirmed his suspicions when he made Edward hold his hands out, making some snide comment about how he should have known he wouldn’t be the first to do this. Someone like Edward, he said, needed a good lashing now and again. Jon assumed there were scars on his hands that he hadn't been close enough to see before. The room was uncomfortably silent, and the teacher was uncomfortably smug. The students shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, and Edward seemed uncomfortably at home when the teacher began smacking the back of his hands with the ruler. He didn’t stop until Edward’s hands were bleeding.

No one said anything.

No one moved.

No one tried to stop it.

Jonathan felt ill.

When it was done, the teacher sent Edward back to his seat with bleeding hands. He was shaking so hard Jonathan could almost feel it, and the rest of class seemed to go by painfully slowly.

The rest of the students filed out. But not Jonathan or Edward.

It was clear Ed wanted to leave quickly, but he looked at his bleeding hands and at his beloved books and seemed to be at a loss. His eyes were watery. Jon wondered how long he’d been holding back tears. 

Moving slowly so as not to startle him, Jonathan gathered up Edward’s books for him and regarded him grimly. Edward looked frightened, as well as confused.

“Come with me.” Was the first thing Jonathan ever said to him.

He didn’t need to look to see if Edward was following. He simply kept on walking, out of the classroom and right out of school. As long as Edward had been in town, he’d gotten a reputation as someone who never shut the hell up. As they walked, Edward made not a sound. Jon kept on going until they got to his house, which should have been empty at that time of day. His great-grandmother had errands to run and social calls to make. Jonathan always got to enjoy at least an hour without her after school, and now there was about three hours until even then.

He set Edward’s books down on the kitchen table and gestured for him to sit. Edward did as he was told, hands in his lap and pants stained with blood. Jonathan brought over a basin of lukewarm water, a rag, and the first aid supplies he used for himself. Edward still seemed confused.

“Put your hands in the water.” He spoke softly, as he always did, and Edward did as he said. He wondered if Edward was entirely… present, or if he was running on auto-pilot. He ran the rag gently over the dried blood on Edward’s hands, revealing the raw skin underneath and the extent of the injuries. They weren’t deep, but they still needed to be cleaned. He set Edward’s damp hands on a folded towel as he got out the rubbing alcohol and got some on the damp rag.

“This will hurt.” He warned, just a moment before dabbing at the wounds. They were practiced motions, and though Edward tensed he didn’t pull away. With the wounds cleaned, Jonathan bandaged them properly and meticulously, wanting to do a proper job. There was nothing he could have done when it happened, but there was something he could do now. When he looked up from his task there were tears on Edward’s cheeks.

Neither boy spoke a word as Jonathan cleaned everything up. Edward hardly moved the whole time. After a while, as Jonathan put everything away, he started to relax. Eventually, he spoke.

“...Not my… first time at the rodeo.” He explained hoarsely.

“I know.” Was all Jonathan had to say to that.

“Not yours either.” Jon looked at Edward when he said that, expecting that arrogance or mocking, but only finding understanding and concern. “...Why did you help me?” Edward whispered, as if he were afraid of the answer. Jonathan leaned hard against the counter, looking out the kitchen window at the decaying building out back.

“...I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “Just seemed like the thing to do.”

Edward seemed to take the event as an invitation of friendship. At school, he would wait for Jonathan after class. They spent Jonathan’s free hour after school together and Jonathan was surprised to find he didn’t think it was a waste. One night, Edward snuck in through his bedroom window, and that started a new trend. Whenever one of them was having too hard of a night, they’d climb in through the others window, and they’d spend the night together.

It was unexpected, how much easier things were when someone was there to support him. Not that they were actually easy by any stretch of the imagination. Just… easier. Until it wasn’t.

He didn’t get the riddles anymore, and so Jon figured he’d been right. The whole thing had been a joke, and now that they were friends Edward had dropped it. Then one night, in Jon’s own room, as Edward was slumped against him in exhaustion after a panic attack, everything changed. Edward pulled back and looked at him. Jon didn’t know what he was doing, or why he was getting closer. Then Edward was kissing him.

Edward was kissing him, and he liked it.

He panicked. He shoved Edward away, harsher than what was strictly necessary, and stood from where they’d been sat together. He hissed as furiously as he could without waking his great-grandmother, telling Edward to get the hell out. The look of utter hurt and betrayal on Edward’s face cut far deeper than Jon thought it would.

That was the first time he made Edward cry.

Edward didn’t try to talk to him again after that. Life was lonelier without him. He’d forgotten how utterly miserable he’d been on his own, and had taken for granted how much he looked forward to time with Edward. He kept thinking about the kiss. He kept thinking about how nice it was, and wondering why he had been so upset.

So one night, about a month and a half after the incident, he knocked on Edward’s window. There was a delay before it opened, which was no surprise, but what was surprising was that Edward actually let him through.

Edward’s expression was hard to identify. He looked scared, but hopeful. Open and vulnerable and guarded and suspicious all at the same time. He looked heartbroken. He looked completely in love.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asked quietly, uncertain. He may have blown it. That may have been his only chance. It was possible Edward would never forgive him- But he did. Edward nodded quickly, almost too quickly, and Jon felt his chest tighten. He kissed him gently, apologetically, and wondered how he had ever been able to treat this man so cruelly. He kissed Edward’s cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose, kissed down his jawline and back to his lips.

He whispered apologies as he went. For being an idiot, for reacting impulsively, for pushing him, for avoiding him, for hurting him, for making him cry. He told Edward he didn’t deserve that, he deserved so much more, so much better.

That was the second time he made Edward cry, though it was difficult to see with how hard Edward was clinging to him. He’d been an idiot to let Edward go.

He was confused when Edward pulled away, and by the look of concern on his face. Then a gentle hand swiped under his eyes and came away wet. Jonathan blinked, taken by surprise. When had he started crying? _Why_ was he crying? He wiped his tears quickly, or tried to, but Edward took his hands and lowered them, standing on the very tips of his toes to kiss the damp trails the tears had left on Jonathan’s face.

Jonathan’s entire body shuddered as if trying to hold something back, as if he were fighting to keep from expressing whatever it was he was feeling. Edward looked at him knowingly.

“It’s alright Jon. It’ll be alright.” That was all it took to absolutely wreck him. Edward ended up with an armful of an eighteen year old, 6'4" sobbing mess who could barely hold himself upright. There was not a single moment, before during or after, when Jonathan could have pinpointed a single reason why he was crying. But it didn’t matter. When he was done, Edward was still there, humming to him and stroking his hair. No one had ever stroked his hair before. It was nice.

How had there ever been a time when he hadn’t loved Edward Nashton?


End file.
